Chapter 21

AS MITCH ushered her toward his front gate, Kathryn looked up at the house, trying to distract herself from being so physically aware of him. Where he lived was another expression of the person he was and she could no longer deny she was interested in everything about him. But that was okay, she told herself, as long as sexual attraction didn't start blurring the line that should be kept.

This encounter was out of the ordinary.

Maybe her response to Mitch Tyler, the man, was being coloured by that.

His home was a two-storey terrace, painted a dark blue with white trim.

Intricate white lace ironwork decorated the top balcony and lower porch. The street was certainly an upmarket one, every house neat and tidy, the trees along the sidewalk giving it a quietly contained atmosphere.

She knew that renovated terraces in this area were very pricey. Mitch Tyler had come a long way from being a paper boy. All on his own, too. No financial help from his family. Though, there'd certainly been a lot of love and care within that small household. A very impressive amount. Good people, her mother would say, warmly approving. Whereas Kathryn was very conscious of her parents' reticence on Jeremy's family.

Stop comparing, she berated herself, yet it was impossible not to, especially when Mitch showed her into his home and she instantly fell in love with it. The whole ground floor had been opened up for maximum living space yet the feeling of the place was still cosy, yet elegant, as well. No bombardment of fashionable colour and ultra-modern furniture.

The floors were a rich red-brown polished wood and the walls were all white, apart from the wonderful sandstone fireplace in the lounge room.

Brown leather chesterfields flanked the fireplace and also the television set which was centred on the opposite wall and surrounded by bookshelves.

The dining room suite was a lovely mahogany with dark red upholstery, and scatter cushions on the chesterfields were of the same dark red which was repeated in woven borders on the cream floor rugs. On the coffee table sat a beautiful chess set carved from black and a creamy white onyx.

'Do you play?' she asked impulsively, wondering if it was purely a decorative item.

The blue eyes crinkled in amusement. 'It occupies what might otherwise be lonely hours. I play mostly correspondence chess, for lack of a handy partner.'

'I'll give you a game later,' she offered, seeing it as a safe activity to occupy the evening.

'You play?' He looked delighted.

'My father taught me—' she grinned '—for lack of a handy partner.' He laughed. 'Do you play often?'

'Only when I go home alone. Jeremy doesn't…' She stopped before saying he didn't have the patience for chess, conscious of it sounding like a criticism, which wasn't fair. Jeremy worked very intensively. He liked more social activities in his leisure hours. Which was perfectly reasonable.

'You must tell me about your family while we deal with dinner,' Mitch smoothly invited, leading her to the kitchen which was the first part of an annex built onto the back of the house. Laundry and downstairs bathroom beyond it, he told her.

The kitchen was white, too, apart from the red-brown granite benchtops

—much more welcoming than the rather cold and clinical stainless steel everywhere, which Jeremy favoured because it was modern and the most expensive. Again Kathryn pushed aside the critical thought, telling herself that she should appreciate Jeremy's choice of state of the art kitchen fixtures. In fact, she should be grateful for them.

'Red wine okay with you? Or do you prefer white?' Mitch asked, shedding his suit coat and tie and rolling up his shirt-sleeves as he prepared to take charge of preparing their meal.

'Red, if we're having beef,' she replied before realizing it might not be wise to drink any alcohol at all.

This was one occasion when she couldn't afford to let inhibitions slip, especially with Mitch's less formal appearance making her even more acutely aware of his sexy physique—taut cheeky butt, muscular arms, broad chest, an intriguing glimpse of black hair at the V end of his opened shirt.

Still, one glass of wine shouldn't go to her head and there was no harm in being sociable to that small degree.

'If you want to go upstairs and freshen up while I open this bottle and get organized, the guest suite is directly above this kitchen,' he tossed at her in casual invitation.

It was a considerate way of easing any tension about being shown to a bedroom and Kathryn instantly seized the opportunity for some respite from his overwhelmingly attractive qualities. She needed to get some proper perspective on this situation.

'Thank you. I won't be long.' 'Take your time. There's no hurry.'

The staircase was at the back of the dining room, the treads carpeted in teal-green, a floor covering which extended along the hallway above and into the bedroom she was to occupy. Kathryn was amazed to find the

queen-size bed covered by an absolutely gorgeous woollen rug crocheted in multicoloured squares that were bordered by black. It was like a patchwork quilt, beautifully worked. And on the walls were framed tapestries patterned from famous paintings—the best of them, to her eye, a glorious water-lily scene, definitely one of Monet's.

This had to be some of his mother's handiwork, sitting in a wheelchair all day, keeping busy, selling what she could to specialty craft shops.

Obviously not everything had been sold, or perhaps these lovely items had been worked after there had no longer been a need to sell. Kathryn liked Mitch Tyler all the more for keeping them, furnishing this room with them

—the room his sister stayed in when she came to Sydney.

Family ties…

There was something very heart-tugging about this room. Kathryn swiftly moved into the ensuite bathroom which was far more impersonal— mainly white with rows of teal feature tiles and towels. She looked at her face in the mirror above the vanity bench and wondered what Mitch Tyler saw in her. Was she the kind of woman who appealed to him? If she was free…would he…?

A rush of guilt stopped this treacherous train of thought. She was engaged to be married. Jeremy had been her partner for over a year. Their relationship wasn't perfect but whose was? It balanced out better than most, didn't it? To throw it all away on a chance meeting in extraordinary circumstances…

She lifted her left hand, stared down at the diamond ring on her third finger and once again found herself wishing it wasn't there. Did this mean that her commitment to Jeremy was wrong? Or was this just a passing feeling, a point in her life that was totally out of kilter with all the rest? If she took off the ring, it would signal to Mitch Tyler that…no! This was crazy. Far too fast. She would undoubtedly regret it tomorrow.

Besides, the evening with Mitch had barely begun. This initial attraction could very quickly wear off.

Kathryn seemed more relaxed when she came back downstairs, happy to sit on the stool on the other side of the kitchen counter and cut up the vegetables he'd laid out for her. Mitch had worked swiftly while she was away, setting the dining table with place mats and cutlery, getting out the wok and various sauces, putting a pot of water on the stove, ready for the two-minute noodles to accompany the stir-fry. Now he could focus on drawing her out about herself and her family.

Though first she asked him if he'd designed the renovation of the terrace house himself. 'With the help of an architect,' he answered.

'And the decor is your choice, too?' 'Yes, it is,' he said a touch belligerently.

She nodded as though she'd guessed it was all his doing and he wondered what judgement she was making of it. Old-fashioned? Harriet had wanted to get rid of his mother's bedspread and tapestries—give them to his sister—but he wouldn't.

Too many hours of his mother's life were woven into them—hours shared chatting to him, caring about what he did, what he wanted to do. Good memories were worth more than stylish decor which invariably went in and out of fashion.

'That's a fabulous rug on the guestroom bed.'

He smiled, relieved by Kathryn's appreciation of it. 'My mother made it.'